Friday, December 20, 2013

Alright. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m the only one in the world that
thinks “curiosity” is not a valid reason to ask inappropriate questions. Maybe
I’m the only person that doesn’t go up to people and ask “Why are you black?” “Why
are you gay?” “Why are you so damn ugly?”

If I’m in the wrong here, let me know. If you think these guys are
actually winners and I should give them a chance, I will. Actually, that’s a
lie. I won’t because I think it’s inappropriate to ask complete strangers questions
like this. Not because it’s sensitive or makes me mad or makes me sob harder
than the first twenty minutes of Up. It doesn’t. But because it doesn’t fucking
matter why and it’s none of your damn business anyway, because, let’s remember,
I DON’T KNOW YOU!

However, the messages will never stop coming and I love all of them.
Each guy has his own special way of trying to get into my business, and sometimes
I even respond. They never seem to appreciate my response though. Apparently
what I view as my “charming sass” is viewed as an “attack” by the strange men
who are attempting to get the intimate details of my life.

But don’t worry ladies – I don’t just get the inappropriate “let me ask
you about why you’re in a wheelchair” messages. I also get super awkward people
and complete creeps. We can suffer together ladies!

So, without further ado, please enjoy this December issue of “Real
Messages From Guys Online”

Some of These Guys Get
Straight to the Point:

This Complete Stranger Has
Reassured Me That My Use (Or Nonuse) of a Wheelchair is Fine by Him.

Him:

I don't want to sound offensive or to direct. Are you handicapped cause
in half the pics your standing and the others your not so I'm confused.

Him:

Either way I'm ok with that :)

This Guy Knows that
Complete Strangers Try to Get in my Business All the Time, but That Won’t Stop
Him Because MUST Know My Business Too!

Him:

Hijust curious to
know what made you so passionate about disability rights and why are you in a
wheelchair? You must get this a lot but I must know.

Me:

Hi
Just curious why do you think it's appropriate to ask strangers about their
disabilities? You must not interact with disabled people a lot, but I must
know.

I’m Confusing This Guy, Aren’t
Wheelchairs Just for Fun?

Him:So are the wheelchairs for fun, experience and to educate? Or do you
have a disability. Some pics standing, some in the chair, slightly confused lol
O_o

This Guy Thinks I’m a
Nasty Attacker

Please note that this guy bragged about how incredibly rich and amazing
he is in his profile. He also likes “feminine” women who put their clothes on
hangers. No joke.

Him:

Hi, how's it going? You seem very feminine.So tell me more
about yourself. Why are you in a wheelchair sometimes? If you were an animal,
what would you be? Where do you want to travel next?Anyway, sorry this
is a little awkward. I hope to hear from you soon!Jon

Me:

Hey Jon,
It's going great. I'm not very feminine. I'm just the regular amount.
More about myself, huh? Well, I do disability rights law and I prefer
conversations with substance as opposed to being asked personal questions
followed by insignificant questions.

Him:

I'm not sure why you're even writing back if you're just going to attack
me and say nasty things.

This Guy is Confused
about My Wheelchair Which Might Be Why I’m a Jumbled Mess In His Head

Him:

OK, I just read your profile. But I can't really make heads or tails of
you, which is probably a good thing.Looks-wise I think
you are incredibly attractive, and I find your nobility and willingness to
fight for a noble cause very admiring, since most people focus their efforts on
trying to screw people over.But I can't really
get a read on you. You're all over the place personality wise. If I sort of can
zero in on some things we might have in common, it might be that you seem nerdy
and happy go lucky, very sweet and with a love of life that's intoxicating.One question
though. Are you or are you not in a wheelchair? Sometimes you're standing,
sometimes you're in one. I am so confused.Anyway write me
back if you think a jerk like me is worth a shot. Maybe afterwards you can
unravel the jumbled mess in my head that is you! LOL.I hope to hear from
you.J.P.S: I have a
detailed plan of what to do and where to go, get food, weapons, etc for the
zombie apocalypse! I'll make sure to save you.

Some Guys Don’t Ask
About My Disability, Instead They’re Just Straight Up Creepers

This Guy Wants to
Share His Personal Issues with Me Because We’re Not Strangers Anymore!

Him:

Is it ok to share one of my insecurities/ embarrassing thing about
myself before I continue?

Me:

We're not exactly close. You sure you want to share those things with a
complete stranger?

Him:

You're not a complete stranger anymore! Lol

Him:

Wait I don't even know your name -_-

This Guy Is My Personal Favorite This Month - If Awkward Doesn't Work, Just Try Again!

This guy messaged me and asked what I was “looking for.” I told him I
wanted to meet someone to go on adventures with in Miami. He came back with an
extra awkward response, so I didn’t reply. Apparently he thought my silence
meant that he should send me another message. Unfortunately he disabled his
account, so I can no longer talk with this gem.

Him:

Very nice. I’d like someone who can balance me out. I’m very active and
it is hard to find someone to keep up with my drive in and out of the bedroom.
Lol.

I practice
securities law. I love my work.

Him:

I like to do long distance running and training for that can take up
time. I also surf, ski, bike and a lot more to stay in shape. When I’m
exclusive, I prefer to take advantage of intimacy with my partner and some
can’t handle my size.

I handle financial
transactions and such.

Lessons Learned:

1. I'm still really confusing. Not just because I have a vagina (which should be enough to confuse men), but also because I sit and stand.

2.

I am completely fine with being a cat lady for the rest of my life if this is the alternative.

Monday, December 16, 2013

At some point in October I got a message from a guy on
OKCupid who, while not completely charming, was able to write in complete
sentences and did not have any pictures of himself shirtless in the bathroom
mirror. Yes, these are my standards now. Miami has basically lowered my
expectations for all men.

Anyway, we’re going to call this guy the Miserable Brazilian.

After talking online for a few days he asked me for my
number. I figured, what the hell, he can spell, so why not?

We texted for a while and had actual conversations about
more than shiny cars and working out (again, these are my expectations now that
I live in Miami). Then one day he said something and I thought he was indicating
that he wanted me to send him inappropriate selfies. Umm, no. Not happening
Creepazoid. So I stopped responding to his texts. Maybe I should have just
ended it there, but my life wouldn’t be nearly as interesting if I made
sensible decisions.

After ignoring him for a week, he sent me one that said “Hi
Steph. You’re probably busy with trial, but all goofiness aside, I’d like to
feed you burritos and pasta. You’re very unique and attractive.”

Well, there we go with the burritos. Free food is my
weakness.

I replied that I was busy, but I was turned off by his
desire for inappropriate selfies and thus I wasn’t interested.

THAT’S RIGHT. I TURNED DOWN FREE FOOD.

He said that that wasn’t what he meant by his text and that
he’d love the opportunity to show me that he’s not the typical Miami creeper.

I mean, he did offer me free food, so I did the only logical
thing I could think of. I agreed to go on a date with him but only if he took
me on a date that was adventurous, unique, or exciting. He was up for the
challenge, so we made plans.

Before our date we texted and he seemed great via text. He
also looked like Rick Grimes from Walking Dead with a little bit of Nick from
New Girl mixed in, so I was actually looking forward to our date.

Date night came and he took me to a Spanish restaurant that
had a flamenco dancing show. It was unique, so he gets points for that. Then we
played pool afterwards. But somehow, even though we had great text
conversations, talking to him in person was the most painful experience ever.
It was terrible. I tried so hard. I’ve had more successful conversations with
most of the small appliances in my apartment. I’ve had more thrilling
conversations with workers at the DMV. I've had deeper conversations with my two year old niece who barely speaks English.

Yes, I've had deeper conversation with this.

He complained a little about women, and then he complained
about his job. I don’t know why, but people who complain about their jobs especially
turn me off.

Anyway, he asked me on a second date and promised that he
was going to take me somewhere where I could touch fluffy animals. Obviously I
shouldn’t have told him that food and fluffy animals are my weaknesses, but
it’s too late for that now. I wasn't that into it, but I took an office vote (that’s right, my
coworkers and assistants are the people who make these decisions for me) and
they voted that I should go on the date with him because he was probably just nervous
on Date 1 which is why our conversations made me want to smash my head into a
wall.

Ok. Fine. Date 2 he takes me to Jungle Island which is
basically the best place on earth. It’s a zoo and the moment you enter the park
they start putting animals on you. Seriously. BEST PLACE EVER.

I roll in and see parrots and I say “you think I can touch
them?” and the employee says “touch them? We’re about to pile them on you!” and
suddenly, BAM, I’m covered in parrots. AMAZING.

You can tell when I'm really excited because
my real smile makes me look like an overly excited,
yet hideous 12 year old who is desperately
hoping to grow out of this "ugly duckling" stage in life.

Then I roll two feet forward and an employee says “wanna
hold a baby alligator?” OBVIOUSLY!

The alligator was slightly less thrilled than
that crippled 12 year old.

Two more feet – “wanna hold a baby monkey?” YES! WHY ARE YOU
EVEN ASKING ME? STOP ASKING AND START PILING THE ANIMALS ON ME ALREADY!

PILE THE MONKEYS ON!

This is clearly the best place ever and I’m already thrilled
when suddenly the Miserable Brazilian tells me there’s a surprise for me. So we
go to the front office and I sign waivers. I don’t even know what I’m signing (my
law school professors would be ashamed of me for signing shit without reading
it) but who cares? I’m in the land of fluffy animals. What could go wrong?

They tell us my surprise will be ready in 5 minutes, so I go
to the gift shop to kill time and I’m talking to the employees about how much I
love fluffy animals and how someday I want to go to this panda sanctuary in
China that lets you play in a room full of baby panda for 10 minutes for $100
and how I would throw down thousands for that shit. The employee tells me that
at Jungle Island for an extra $50 or something you can be in a room with baby
lemurs for 25 minutes. WHAT?! SIGN ME UP!

Then the Miserable Brazilian pulls me aside and says “That
guy is such an asshole.” What? “That’s what you’re about to do. That asshole
just ruined your surprise.” No, Miserable
Brazilian, you just ruined my surprise – I had no idea. Jerk.

I would have let this get on my nerves, but a minute later I
was in a room full of baby lemurs and it was the most incredible experience
ever.

12 year olds love being attacked by lemurs.

After that I really really wanted to like the Miserable
Brazilian. Jungle Island was a great date place, the lemurs were an amazing
surprise, and he was obviously more into me than I was into him which made me
feel bad, so I really wanted to like this guy dammit. But every time he opened
his mouth something miserable would come out. Why did he have to complain about
everything?

Even though he was miserable, I really wanted to like him,
so (against the advice of all of my coworkers) I agreed to a third date because
he said he’d take me for a cheeseburger and cheeseburgers are my all-time
weakness (and because I'm stupid).

So on Date 3 we go to Fuddruckers – I’d never been before
and it was delicious. And maybe it was because he was shoving a cheeseburger in
his face most of the time, but I noticed he didn’t complain nearly as much.
Then on the way home he started complaining about Justin Beiber which upset me,
not because I’m a semi-devoted Belieber (judge me all you want), but because,
seriously, you’re complaining about JB? Really, we’ve stooped that low in
complaining?? I tell him that maybe he’d be more
attractive if he stopped complaining so much. Then he kept talking and I didn’t
want to listen so I just turned up Ray Charles on the radio to drown out his
voice.

I get home and we talk in his car and he’s not complaining
and I think that maybe he’s not so bad after all, so I asked him if he wanted
to see Hunger Games with me later that night.

AND THIS IS WHERE IT WENT DOWN.

We go to see Hunger Games and in the middle of the movie he
starts talking. NO. I’m allowed to make comments in movies but you are not. You
stay silent.

It gets worse. HE CALLS KATNISS A PLAYER.

I tell him to shut up and that he’s not helping himself so
he should just stop, but he keeps going. After the movie he’s still going on
about how Katniss is a player and will say anything to get what she wants out
of Gale and Peeta (which is obviously not the case!) and I’m sick of his shit
so I just refuse to talk to him. Then he says “She’s just like Hermione. They
just say what they want to manipulate men.”

WHAT?!

SHUT YOUR DIRTY MOUTH!

HERMIONE DOES NOT MANIPULATE MEN! We all know that she never
even had any interest in Harry and she’s saved Harry’s ass a million times, but
she’s never manipulated anyone.

Hermione "manipulating" Harry and Ron, obvi.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the last damn straw. He
got to my building and I just got out of the car and walked inside. He thought
I was kidding. He left me a voicemail that night. He tried texting me the next
day too. No. You don’t insult Hermione and Katniss and think that you still get
to talk to me. Goodbye.

Abridged Version

Complain about women and your job on Date 1? You’ll get a
second date. Complain and be miserable on Date 2? I’ll give you a third date! Complain about the Beibs on Date 3? I’ll deal
and go on a fourth date. Talk shit about Katniss and Hermione? GET THE FUCK OUT
OF MY LIFE.

Friday, December 13, 2013

I had big plans yesterday. Yesterday was the day that I was
going to begrudgingly become a Florida resident. I had been putting this off
for a while because I don’t exactly want to be associated with the great state
of Florida where killing babies is no biggie, shooting teens is fine, the
government accidentally made computers illegal for a while, and absolutely no
one can drive. But yesterday was the day I was stepping up and doing it. I
checked all the websites, got everything they needed: passport, paystub, bills
with my address, my lease, my title, proof of insurance. I’m good to go.

I left work early and was getting hangry (yes, my hunger
turns into extreme anger) and I thought I should probably eat because going to
the DMV was already going to be pleasant enough without my hangry side coming
out and inevitably threatening everyone in my vicinity.

I went to Taco Bell, decided to splurge on an XXL Grilled
Stuft Burrito, and figured I’d eat it in my car when I got to the DMV because my car is not too fancy to
have food in it.

As I happily drive with my burrito in my passenger seat, I
suddenly get hit by, what else, a fucking Acura!

Karma, you’re such a bitch, but you’re kind of hilarious, so
I love you.

So I call the cops and then call
the Florida DMV to tell them that I have to cancel appointment because I got into
an accident. Awesome. They tell me to just come in late if I can drive.

This whole time I’m trying to make these calls my assistant,
Sara, is texting my about a Backstreet Boys Cruise that’s happening next
October because she knows BSB are pretty high on my priority list. While I
would usually be jumping in circles and screaming over the news that I can be
on the same boat as Brian, Nick, Howie, Kevin, and that dirty looking 5th
guy, it’s a little awkward to do that when you’re on the phone with 911.

Then I realize I have no idea if my car is drivable. How the
fuck am I supposed to know these things? This is why I always had a boyfriend
or my brother in law. But in Miami, I have neither. My boss was in a
deposition, so I couldn’t call him. My assistant Will is a great guy, but he
Pinterests, so clearly he has no car knowledge.

That’s when I had to suck it up and text the Trust Fund
Charmer. He was the last person in the world I wanted to contact, but he knows
about cars, so I did it. He called me immediately and asked if I was okay. I
told him I was fine and I needed to figure out if I could drive my car.

“Pop the hood and tell me if you see any liquid anywhere” he
instructs me.

“How do I pop the hood?” I ask. “I’m serious,” I add as I
hear him laugh.

“You really don’t know how to pop your hood?”

Did you not hear me? I was just in a fucking car accident
and you want to add insult to injury now?

“No. I don’t.” I told him. “I have a vagina. I’m not
supposed to have to know these things. I know how to pick out curtains and
pretty shit, I don’t know car stuff. That’s why boys exist – to do this shit.”

He explains the process of pulling some lever and laughs as
I struggle to unlatch the latch from hell.

“Do you see your radiator?”

For real? Is that a real fucking question?!

“I see plastic.”

“Do you see a clear plastic thing with liquid?”

That narrows it down to like 5 things.

“Maybe?”

He gives up.

“Just look under your car. Do you see liquid?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?!

This is the point I that have to crawl under my car and
touch some mystery liquid which basically violates my number one rule in life: Don’t touch anything that looks sticky.
I hate sticky things. This is why I hate kids. They’re always sticky. You can put a kid in a sterile room and it will
somehow come out sticky.

I touch it. It’s not sticky. Thank God.

“It’s water, I think.”

“Okay, send me a picture of your car.”

I comply.

My poor Jagger

He texts me: “LOL. You are fine. I thought you were in REAL
accident. That is a tap.”

Excuse me? Jagger (that’s my car’s name, duh) is looking
very sad. What do you mean this isn’t
real?!

Whatever. The cop tells me I can go. I’m finally on my way
to the DMV to get my damn license. I get there and tell the DMV lady about my
awesome day. She was very interested – I could tell by the dead look in her
eyes and the way she tapped her pen.

“You bring the papers?” she interrupts my amazing story.

“Yes!” I hand them over proudly because I actually had my
shit together.

“Your paystub doesn’t have your social security number on
it” she informs me.

“The website told me to bring a paystub. That’s a paystub.”
I can play the obvious game too, lady.

“Come back when you have one with you social security
number. Bye.”

ARE YOU KIDDDING?! THE WHOLE REASON I LEFT WORK EARLY AND
GOT INTO AN ACCIDENT WAS TO GET MY DAMN FLORIDA LICENSE & YOU’RE REJECTING
ME? FLORIDA IS REJECTING ME!? OH HELL NO.

I was not giving up for the day. I was going to accomplish
something dammit.

I went to the Tag Agency to try to get plates. They close at
5. I got there at 4:55, but they liked me so they let me in. They liked my
paperwork too, unlike old Dead Eyes back at the DMV. They also liked my $500 I
paid to get one damn license plate.

I know it has oranges on it, but still not worth $500.

As I waited for them to process my paperwork, I smelled
something delicious. “It smells nice in here” I felt compelled to tell them
since it’s just me and the staff now.

“I’m eating cookies” a guy tells me.

Then it hits me. The mention of food triggers my hangry side. I never got to eat my damn burrito!

“You’re eating a cookie and you didn’t offer me one?! It’s
because I’m in a wheelchair, isn’t it?”

The guy legit spits out his cookie from laughing. The next
thing I know, we’re sharing a tin of delicious cookies and he’s insisting he’ll
put my plate on my car for me. Good. You’re a boy. That’s what you’re supposed
to do. “Sweet!” I tell him. “When you’re
done you can come to my apartment, put up my curtains, change my light bulbs,
and hang my pictures.”

“Okay. Where do you live?” Umm no. I was kidding. You can
change my license plate and feed me cookies, but that’s as far as our relationship
is going.

He changes my back plate, but can’t get the front one because,
no joke, he’s using a quarter as a screw driver.

I finally drive home after my awesome day and I call my
assistant, Will, because even though he Pinterests, I’m hoping like hell he
has a screw driver & will take off my front plate so that my poor Jagger,
who has already been through enough today, doesn’t have some sort of identity
crisis because the front half of him has an NY plate and the back has Florida.
In a sense, Jagger is currently business in the front and party in the back. While
I understand that some people think this is an acceptable look, if Jagger were
human he would certainly have all of his teeth, therefore the Mullet Mentality
is not his style.

Will tells me that he does have a screw driver, in fact, he
has a whole manly toolset. Thank goodness because I really didn’t want to call
the Trust Fund Charmer and ask for his help again. He tells me he’ll bring the
screw driver to work tomorrow so I can use it.

“I’m sorry, do you think I’m doing it?”

“Right. I’ll do it. You continue to emasculate me every
chance you get and I’ll do everything you ask.”

SOLD! Thanks Will!

Then I go in
my building and found that I have two packages! I LOVE PACKAGES! I love them so
much that my security guard likes to fuck with me by saying “Oh leeeetle girl
Stephanie! You have a package!” (He thinks I’m 12.) “Really!?!” (I always fall
for it.) “Haha. No. Just keeeeding.” I hate you.

But this time the packages were real. My friend Dave sent me
a pink santa hat and my friend Ali sent me a snowman gift bag filled with
candy! Best way to end my eventful day.

Also, my car smells like burrito now and I don’t mind at
all. And I still hate Acuras.

Abridged Version:

Got in an accident with an Acura because Karma is hilarious.
Got to listen to my ex make fun of me for not knowing how to pop the hood of my
car. Got rejected by the state of Florida (or at least their DMV). Got a
license plate with cookies (my only success of the day). All is well now that I
am wearing a pink santa hat and eating candy for dinner.

Lessons Learned?

1. Karma will get you for talking shit about
Acuras.

2. How to pop the hood of my car, but I still don’t
think I should have to.

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Last night I went on worst date of my life. Don’t get me
wrong, I’ve been on bad dates before, and some of them are solid contenders for
the title “worst date ever” but I’m pretty sure this one gets the medal.

Let’s call my date “Cheap Douche.” I met him online (obviously, because I apparently no
longer believe in real human interaction). He asked for my number. I refused. He
kept asking. I caved. He called me. I told him I would only go on a date with
him if it was something unique or exciting.

CD said he had a great surprise date for me an hour outside of Miami and asked if he
could pick me up. Hell if you think I'm driving an hour for a date, so I called my
sister to tell her if she didn't hear from me to assume I was dead & call
the police.

From the moment CD picked me up I began to dislike him.

He started with saying “Damn, I should have used your
restroom before we left.” Umm, you think I’m going to let you in my apartment? I’m not even letting you know which floor I live on.

“Oh well” I said, “Guess you’ll just have to hold it.” He
then says “Or I can just piss myself.” I don’t respond. I guess he took my
silence as a cue that I wanted him to go even further so he said “Yeah, I wear
diapers.” Please stop. "Hahaha. I wear diapers and piss myself!"Kill me.

Then we pass a building and he says “That place is great!”

“What is it?” I ask.

“It’s a strip club, but it’s not as good as this other one
in Miami.”

Classy.

By this point I had already decided I’d rather slide down a
banister full of razors and land in a pit of salt and cockroaches than go on a
second date with him, so I try to make the best of it since I’m stuck with him
for now.

I say “Oh. I’m not a big fan of strip clubs because when I went to one
it didn’t live up to my expectations. It was nothing like the movies.”

“You like strip clubs?” he asks. Were you listening to me at
all? “By the sounds of it, it sounds like you like girls too.” Yep. By saying I
don’t like strip clubs I was actually saying I like strip clubs and I’m bi.
Thanks for keeping up.

Then he takes me to a diner before we go on our “great
surprise date” which wasn't a surprise at all – I guessed it was go-kart racing
before we even got out of Miami (it’s seriously impossible to surprise me).

I
tell him how much I love cheeseburgers and he said something about how I don’t
look like I eat a lot and I told him that I always get a to-go box because I
never finish my burger. Then he encourages me to get a burger (buddy, I don’t
need encouragement, I live for cheeseburgers – my boss frequently tells
strangers “Stephanie would do anything
for a cheeseburger!” (which he should probably stop doing, but that’s not the
point)).

While we’re eating he keeps saying the douchiest things and
it took everything I had not to take my fork and shove it in his right eye.
Then he tells me to hurry up so we can go racing. I said “I’m done, I just have
to get a box.”

AND THEN IT HAPPENED.

He said, “No. That’s not going in my car.”

EXCUSE ME?

“I have a nice car and I don’t want a burger in it,” he tells
me.

WHAT?! DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT CHEESEBURGERS MEAN TO
ME?!

“Really?” I responded,
“Unless your Acura just turned into a Lamborghini, I don’t see the problem.”

This is an Acura Sedan. This is not a Lamborghini.

“Really. I want my car to stay clean and watch your mouth when you talk about my car” he tells me.

Watch my mouth? Watch my mouth?! Listen Douchebag, I wanted to put the burger in a box and go
in your car, I wasn’t planning on smearing the burger all over your dashboard
(but now I’m considering it).

THEN THIS DOUCHE TAKES A BITE OF MY CHEESEBURGER! ARE YOU
KIDDING?! HOW DARE YOU!

By this point I feel like I’m giving him enough vibes, dirty
looks, and serious insults to let him know that I think he’s a complete waste
of skin, but apparently not because then he tried to get all
touchy with me.

Your hand on my back? No.

Grabbing my arm? Don’t you dare.

Put
your hands on my face? BACK THE FUCK UP.

I literally push you away every time you get within 5 feet
of me, how do you not understand that I’d rather make out with Larry King than
be near you?

Larry was pumped when he found out about our upcoming makeout session.

Then we go to the go-kart place and it comes time to pay and he insists on going halfsies! Excuse me? You asked me on a date and you expect me to pay? Do you really think I want to pay $30 to drive in circles for 5 minutes? You’re
shitting me, right?

He wasn’t. He legit had me pay and I got to drive in circles
for 5 minutes like I couldn’t have done the same thing in my parking garage for
free with my XM radio which would have been far better company.

The entire time I was trying to find a way to get the
go-kart out of the building so I could drive it home so I wouldn’t have to get
back in Cheap Douche’s super fancy (burgerless) Acura.

No such luck. I got stuck suffering on the ride home with the
Cheap Douche who decided to take this time to brag about his go-karting skills.
I spent this time wishing that we would drive into a pole.

When he got bored bragging, he went back to his diaper bit.
Not kidding.

He also was kind enough to tell me that he can’t drink apple
juice because it gives him gas. No really, please let us crash into a pole.

By the time we got to my building, I basically jumped out of
the car, and considering I’m a cripple that’s impressive. As I walked in front
of his car to get to my building he decided to honk at me.

I kindly gave him the finger and went inside.

…he still texted me today.

Abridged version:

Douche wouldn’t let me take my leftover cheeseburger home
because apparently Acuras are Lambos now. Topics discussed included diapers,
strippers, and passing gas. He made me pay on a date that he asked me on. When
he dropped me off I gave him the finger. He still texted me the next day.

Lessons Learned?

1.Some guys really don’t get the hint. Even when
the hint is my middle finger.

2.No matter how hard you wish, sometimes cars just
will not independently drive into poles.

Sunday, December 8, 2013

I
was attempting to get over the first guy I dated in Miami (we’ll call him the
Trust Fund Charmer, who I met two weeks after moving to Miami, fell pretty hard
for, and then things got ridiculously messed up. We’ll get to that story another time because it’s hilarious).

Anyway, I was laying in bed watching P.S. I Love You,
because, let’s be serious, what better way is there to get over a guy then to
watch a movie that will give you completely unrealistic expectations about men?
(note: I also bought The Notebook and How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days during this
“get over him” period because I am apparently a masochist and like to torture
myself with movies about perfect guys and happy endings).

So after my brilliant viewing of P.S. I Love You I had a
revelation – I want to date an Irish guy! I used to live in Ireland and had the
hottest Irish guy as my roommate, so I’ve always had a bit of a thing for Irish
guys. Why not? It seemed like a great idea so I went to my OKCupid account and
in the search box I wrote “Irish” hoping that I would find an authentic Irish
guy in Miami (because there’s obviously so many of them).

Instead I found a cute guy (maybe a 7.5 or 8) who was 25, worked
on political campaigns, and said he liked Irish pubs because they remind him of
his trips to Ireland. I figured this was as close as I was going to get to an
Irish guy in Miami so I sent him a message. When he wrote back in complete sentences
with no spelling errors I was pretty thrilled since that’s a rare find in the
online dating world.

He asked me to an Irish pub and we hit it off. He was a
gentleman and had a personality, so for Miami he was outstanding. Then for our
second date he invited me to get burritos. Of course I had to say yes because
it’s hard for me to turn down free food in general, but a free burrito? COME
ON. I would get into a windowless van for a free burrito.

However, when he picked
me up he was not driving a windowless van. Worse. I was wearing jeans and a
tank top and this mofo shows up wearing a bowtie and suspenders! WHAT?! The sad
part is that I’m still not sure who was the one that was inappropriately
dressed for the occasion.

Evidence of said bowtie and suspenders

After we got our burritos, he took me to John Martins Irish
Pub where, to my surprise, we had an authentic Irish guy as our waiter (and I
should have just left the hipster at that moment & gone with the Irish guy
– who, after all, was EXACTLY what I was looking for in the first place). While
I was busy falling in love with the Irish waiter, suddenly the hipster DROPS
THE BOMB that he dated a girl in high school and college then married her and
she wanted a divorce so he’s been divorced for a year now. WHAT!?!

As I tried to conceal my WTF face, I thought “I can handle
this. I was engaged before and broke off the engagement about a year & a
half ago. It’s not that different. Give him a shot.” So I kept dating him.

When we were on dates, he was sweet and seemed interested,
but between dates he’d never call and texts were few and far between. I’m not
saying I want a guy to text me every five minutes, but at least once a day
would be nice. (Ps. He did social media
for his job and he would text his roommates constantly when we were on dates,
so he damn well could have texted me.)

But here’s the kicker, when we were actually on dates, his
ex would come up. You’d think that’s normal right? I mean, she was such a big
part of his life for so many years. Fine.

But what’s not normal? Still referring to her as your WIFE.
Not ex-wife. Wife.

He would say things like “Oh my wife’s a great cook” (shut up) or “My
wife lives in D.C. now” (no really, I don't care.) And – no joke – while we were
snuggling/kissing one evening he stopped to tell me about how a mayor he knows
performed the ceremony at his and his WIFE’s wedding. ARE YOU SERIOUS?! Did you legit just get that bored with kissing me that you thought we should talk about your wedding instead? Do you want me to punch you in the face?

Here’s the bigger kicker – I kept dating him. Why? I HAVE NO
FUCKING CLUE. He barely talked to me when we weren’t on dates and when we were
on dates I got to hear all about his wife. Awesome.

So one day, after about a month of dating, he texted me asking
about a trial I was working on and if my boss was still calling me/texting me
from trial to get materials (since I was at the office and my boss was at the
trial). Because I’m so damn mature I replied “Yes, but it’s fine by me. At
least I have a guy in my life that calls and texts me on a consistent basis.”

And that was it. He didn’t text me back (because he was
clearly just as mature as I am) and that
was fine by me because I really didn’t care to get any more updates about his
wife (she really likes the way he makes grilled cheese, by the way.)

Abridged version for those of you who don't want to read about my life:

Tried to get over a break up. Watched P.S. I love you. Wanted to date Irish guy. Dated hipster instead. Hipster took me to an Irish pub where I met an Irish man. I made the poor decision not to run away with the Irish man. Found out the hipster used to be married. Still called his ex his wife. Got a free burrito.

Lessons learned?

1. Don’t date a guy who talks about his “wife.”

2. When you see a hot Irish waiter, leave the
Hipster Divorcee and go with the hottie instead.